


Shelter in the Storm

by Arduinna



Category: Peacemakers (2003)
Genre: M/M, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 18:51:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arduinna/pseuds/Arduinna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's warmer upstairs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shelter in the Storm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dorinda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dorinda/gifts).



“You need me for anything else, Mister Finch?” Chipper asked.

Finch looked up from the report he was writing, neatly tallying the day's events, and smiled when he noticed the boy's eagerness to be gone: hat on, coat buttoned up snugly, and hand hovering near the door handle. “That's all right, Chipper,” he said. “I'm just going to finish this up and then I'll be leaving myself. You go on home.”

“Thanks, Mister Finch! Have a good night,” Chipper said happily, and was out and gone in a heartbeat, clearly not wanting to risk being called back for some bit of filing or cleaning Finch might decide needed doing. A draft of cold, dry air came in as he went out, and swirled around the Marshal's office as the door closed, a few snowflakes settling onto the worn wooden boards to melt.

Finch frowned at the snow—so soon? It seemed much too early in the season—but then, he still wasn't entirely used to winter in the mountains. And besides, a few flakes were hardly anything to be concerned about, even here.

He turned back to his report, noting down that Chipper had left for the day for the sake of completeness... well, and if he was being honest with himself, because he knew it would amuse Stone when he saw it. He’d shake his head, and laugh a little, and say “Only you, Finch,” in that tone of voice he reserved for Finch alone these days, where growing affection turned the gentle mockery into a shared joke between them, one that warmed Finch to the core.

Finch shook his head at his own folly as he signed the report with a flourish and tucked it into the slot where he’d put all the other reports this week as he “held down the fort” for Stone. Familiarity and bonhomie didn’t mean anything but that Stone enjoyed his company for its own sake, pure and simple. They challenged each other, he chided himself as he moved around the office, tidying the few things Chipper had left out. Anyone would naturally enjoy spending time with someone who could challenge them, meet them on an intellectual plane.

His fingers brushed over the chess board that lay waiting for Stone’s return so they could finish their game, half hidden away on a table by the cells so people wouldn’t get the wrong impression when they walked in and saw their Marshal playing a game. He snorted softly. Damn fool town council—as if anyone would care. Any reasonable person would find it a comfort, knowing that their lawman understood strategy and how to think ahead.

He tapped his king lightly and moved on, following a familiar path after nearly a week of looking after things. Stone probably didn’t do as much when he closed things down of an evening, but Finch liked to be sure that things were in their proper places.

He checked each cell, empty though they were, and confirmed that the keys were all accounted for before hanging them back up on their hook. After that came the desk, with every drawer opened and inspected to be sure its contents were intact. Then the windows, checking that everything was closed up tight against the cold he could feel seeping through the walls from the rising wind that was starting to whip around the building. Perhaps it wasn’t too soon for snow, after all.

He hesitated when he reached the lamp near the stairs, not liking the sound of the wind outside, but also not wanting to leave the office in total darkness lest Stone arrive later tonight. His telegram of a few days earlier had indicated that the trial was finally underway, and he’d return as soon as it was over. Finch had been dimming the lamp to a bare glow and leaving coffee and soup on the stove for the last few nights just in case.

Sudden rattling of the windows tipped the scales, and after lighting a lantern to guide his own steps home, he regretfully blew the lamp out entirely. He couldn’t bring himself to leave the office cold, though, and decided it was safe enough to risk leaving the stove banked. Even if Stone didn’t return tonight, Finch would want the stove warm himself in the morning when he came back to open the office.

A last look around satisfied him that he’d snugged things down for the night as well as he could, and he reached for his coat, squelching the impulse to go upstairs to check on Stone’s personal quarters, or perhaps even to sleep there—an impulse that had grown stronger all week. It was ridiculous, of course, and his attempts at logical reasons to support such a course of action rang hollow even to him. Everyone knew if there was a problem at night they should fetch him from his own home; if he stayed here, they would waste valuable time searching for him.

He turned resolutely toward the door, hands on the first button of his coat. Home, then, to his own bed and the familiar sharp scents of his lab, as bracing as any man could wish.

Before he had more than one button fastened, the door opened, giving entry to a frigid blast of wind and rather more than a few snowflakes, as well as a large, snow-covered figure.

“Hello, Finch,” the figure said, slamming the door behind him as he moved into the room.

“Stone! What on Earth—when did it start snowing so hard?”

“Been riding ahead of the leading edge of it for hours.” Stone swept his hat off and tossed it onto a chair along with a pair of saddlebags, then reached for his duster. “It caught up to me a ways back; wasn’t sure I was going to make it to town.”

“Why didn’t you stay in Central City?” Finch asked, shrugging back out of his own coat and moving to take Stone’s duster and coat from him. They had done their job; Stone was mostly dry underneath, at least. Under the scent of fresh, clean air he smelled of pipe tobacco and horse, and Finch breathed deep.

“Thanks,” Stone grunted, and moved toward the stove, hands outstretched to the quiet heat it was still throwing off. “I was already halfway here when I spotted it. This thing blew up fast, outta nowhere. I’ve seen storms like this before, and they can get pretty bad. I figured it was safer to head for town than find shelter in the woods.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Finch agreed, hanging all the coats on hooks. “Especially since it was hardly snowing at all when Chipper left a short time ago. And that wind sounds dreadful.”

“Yeah, and it’ll probably keep going clear through morning, at least.”

Finch looked at him more closely, caught by the hint of exhaustion in Stone’s tone. Frowning, he noticed other tell-tale signs of a ride that had been too long and too cold in the slowness of Stone’s movements, and the wince as he lowered himself into a chair.

“Here, there’s hot soup and coffee—well, warm, at least. I thought you might be back tonight.” Finch didn’t wait for an answer, busying himself at the stove.

“That’s what I like about you, Finch—always thinking ahead.”

“That’s me,” Finch agreed lightly, putting a full bowl and mug in front of Stone. “Here, eat something before you fall over. Did you stop at all between here and Central City?”

Stone shook his head. “Not really, just to water the horse. Had bread in my saddlebag, had some of that.”

“Well, that’s something, at least,” Finch murmured, watching the steady rise and fall of the spoon slow as Stone worked his way through the bowl. The lantern threw his features into sharp relief, making him look even craggier than usual. “I thought you’d be home sooner—your telegram said the trial was moving right along, finally.”

Stone grimaced, shoving the empty bowl away and cradling the coffee mug in his hands. “The judge finally showed up, if that’s what you mean.” He tilted his head to one side in a shrug at Finch’s quizzical look. “Oh, it wasn’t his fault, the doctor said he was pretty sick. But I wish he’d stayed in bed longer. He was confused about what was going on, and kept confusing the jurors.”

“Sounds as though he had a fever still.”

“Could be,” Stone agreed. “Whatever it was, it made a bad situation worse.” He heaved himself to his feet and stood swaying for a moment. “Thanks for the food, Finch, but I’m going upstairs. I’ve had my fill of jail cells, I think.”

“Of course,” Finch said automatically, glancing at the door.

Stone caught the look and shook his head. “I was going to say, you might want to stay here. That wind’s blowing the snow everywhere, on top of it coming down so hard. Storm like that gets bad enough, people can get lost twenty feet from their own front door.”

“Oh,” Finch said, eyes widening at the thought. He’d heard some truly terrible tales of people lost in snowstorms. “In that case, I’d very much appreciate it.”

“Come on up, if you don’t mind sharing,” Stone said casually. “It’s more comfortable than a cot in a cell, and I don’t snore. Much,” he added, slanting a grin at Finch as he walked toward the saddlebags still hanging over their chair.

Finch managed a chuckle as his body went hot and cold by turns at the thought of sharing a bed with Jared Stone. This was… unexpected. And unprepared for. He took a deep breath. It was simply more logical to be up higher, where the stove’s heat would have gathered, and where the rooms were smaller and warmer. That was all.

Stone picked up his saddlebags with a grunt, and Finch’s attention sharpened back into the moment at hand. He eyed the still-weary slope of Stone’s shoulders. “Here, let me,” he offered, and took the bags out of Stone’s hand.

Stone looked like he wanted to object for a moment, then gave in with a tired wave of one hand. “Thanks.” He turned toward the stairs, moving up them slowly, with Finch right behind him. The lantern swung in his left hand, cocooning them in a small island of light.

Stone heaved a sigh of relief when he reached the top, and Finch followed him into the small room he lived in. With what could only be considered permission to be here and look his fill, he gazed around, holding the lantern high. There was a bed along the interior wall, neatly made up—habit, or preparation for his trip? More likely habit—the chest of drawers across from it was as neat, all the drawers closed and only a small scattering of belongings across the top. The pitcher and basin on their stand were expected enough, but the chair near the bed was less so. Perhaps he sat there to pull his boots on, not liking the softness of the bed. Or pulled it near the window to watch the world go by, or to read a book.

He turned to find Stone looking at him in quiet amusement, a smile playing around his lips. “Got everything catalogued, there, Finch?”

But it sounded indulgent, not annoyed, and Finch let himself smile back unguardedly. “Quite so.”

“There’s something you missed,” Stone said casually.

“Oh?”

Stone reached into the saddlebag hanging down Finch’s chest, pulling out a parcel. “I brought you something.”

Finch blinked, putting the lantern safely on the dresser then reaching to take the package from Stone’s hand. It was small, wrapped snugly in paper and tied carefully with string, perhaps half a pound in weight. He looked quizzically at Stone.

“Smell it,” Stone suggested, looking hopeful.

Eyebrows rising, Finch swung the saddlebags onto the dresser as well, then brought the package cautiously to his face and sniffed. “Is that—it is, it’s tea!” He stared at Stone, who cleared his throat and turned his attention to stripping off his shoulder holster, but not before Finch saw the look on his face.

“Well, I know Klein doesn’t keep any Indian tea in stock, and you kept saying how you missed it and meant to buy some the next time you were in Denver, so when I spotted some in the General Store in Central City… I hope it’s the right kind.”

“It smells marvelous,” Finch said, gripping him by the shoulder. “Thank you, Jared.”

Stone grinned crookedly at him, pleased, and Finch was glad to see some of the deep lines in his face easing.

“You look terrible, you know,” Finch said frankly. “Like you’ve been racing that storm all week instead of all day.”

Stone cracked out a surprised laugh. “You’re welcome, Finch,” he said, amused, and dropped into the chair. The laugh turned to a groan as he landed. “Well, maybe you’re right,” he admitted. “It does kinda feel like that. I might be getting a little too old to be living in the saddle and sleeping outside on frozen ground. I used to be able to do rides like that for weeks.”

Finch frowned as all the pleasure in Stone’s face slipped away, replaced by more etched lines of pain and frustration. “Your muscles are probably all in knots.”

Stone grunted, leaning forward to pull off a boot. Finch ignored the fleeting sense of satisfaction at having correctly guessed at least part of the reason why the chair was present, running a mostly clinical eye over Stone’s form. “I may be able to help with some of that,” he said carefully.

Stone glanced up, interested. “Whiskey?”

Finch chuckled. “No, not whiskey. I would have stocked up at Luci’s had I known the storm was coming, but I’m afraid we’re stuck with coffee. And tea,” he added, stroking the package still in his hand and smiling at Stone. Their eyes held for a long moment, and Finch felt an electric spark run across his nerves; the world narrowed down to the small bastion of flickering lamplight they stood within, even the sound of wind and ice against the windows fading away.

He cleared his throat, blinking and glancing away, and when he looked back it was just Stone again. He almost wished he hadn’t said anything, but it was far too late to dissemble now. “No, what I’m talking about is something I fancy myself rather good at: the art of massage.”

Stone looked a bit doubtful, but trusting, and Finch caught his breath at the wave of fierce protectiveness that swept through him at the sight of it. “Okay, if you think it’ll help.”

Finch cleared his throat and put the tea on the dresser next to the saddlebags. “Right, then. It will be easier without the holsters,” he said, stripping off his own and reaching to take Stone’s as well when Stone handed it to him. Stone pointed silently to a nail on the wall where he could hang them.

“Strange,” Finch murmured as he did so. “I never even notice the weight of this when I’m wearing it, but it’s always a relief to have it off.” He rolled his shoulders, enjoying the easy play of fabric against his back.

“Finch,” Stone said gruffly.

“Yes, of course.” Finch swallowed and moved behind Stone. “Now, you just stay right where you are, you’re fine.” This was not an excuse to touch someone his hands ached to touch, he told himself firmly. This was giving succor to a comrade in arms. He blew on his fingers to warm them a bit, then laid them firmly against Stone’s bare neck, holding them steady through Stone’s start of surprise.

Slowly he began to knead, working the muscles loose, enjoying the groans as Stone relaxed gradually under his hands. After several minutes, Stone’s muscles were pliable and warm, and Finch felt a glow of accomplishment deep inside. He carefully broadened his strokes, sliding his fingers just under the edge of Stone’s collar, catching his breath as Stone bent his head further to give him more access, even reaching up to unbutton his top button to make it easier.

When he reversed direction and pushed his fingers up into Stone’s hairline to massage the tight muscles at the base of his scalp and around his ears, Stone made a noise that was very nearly obscene. Finch followed the muscles down and around Stone’s jaw, barely breathing as Stone lifted his head to make it easier. Finch moved closer without thinking, until Stone tipped his head back to rest against his stomach, which was fluttering madly.

Icy snow pelted against the window in a gust of wind, but Finch barely noticed. He was warm now, could feel the flush spreading through him, and the faint tremor in his fingers had nothing to do with the storm outside the walls. Delicately, he pulled them down along Stone’s neck until they rested along his collarbone, where he stopped, breathing more harshly now.

Slowly, Stone reached up and undid the rest of his buttons, twisting to pull his shirt off. Finch helped, pulling the sleeves off Stone’s arms, the curve of hard muscle filling his hands. Stone settled back in, head leaning against Finch, and pulled Finch’s hands to where they had been, pressing them into his skin.

Finch let out a shaky breath. “Jared –”

Stone dropped his chin to his chest and huffed out a laugh. “Only you, Finch,” he said, indulgent and amused.

Finch blinked, staring down at the top of Stone’s head. “What?”

Stone twisted to look at him. “I’m not saying stop, am I?” he asked, waving a hand at his torso.

“No…”

“So don’t stop.” Stone hesitated. “Unless you want to…”

Finch gazed down at him, something bright and hot and fierce running through him at the suddenly doubtful tone. “No,” he said, low. “No, I very much don’t want to stop.”

The smile he got for that turned all the bright fierce heat molten, twisting in his belly, and Finch was moving without thought, coming around to catch Stone’s face in his hands and reaching hungrily for his mouth.

Stone froze for an instant, eyes widening in surprise, then reached out and pulled Finch closer, kissing him back just as hungrily. His hands worked their way up under Finch’s shirt and vest, calluses sliding against his skin, and Finch moaned into Stone’s mouth. He let go of Stone to remove both, shivering a little as the room’s cool air hit his bare skin. He reached for his trousers, only to find Stone’s hands there first.

“Capital idea,” Finch said happily, reaching for Stone’s trousers in turn, and grinning at Stone’s quiet laughter. Between them they got each other undressed somehow, laughing over tangled braces and twisted drawers, stealing messy kisses through it all, while delight sang through Finch at every easy moment.

When they were bare, laughter faded into wonder as they stared at each other.

“God, Finch—”

“So many scars,” Finch said softly, reaching out to trace what looked like a knife wound on Stone’s thigh that followed the line of muscle for a good inch and a half. “How –”

Stone caught his hand and squeezed it. “Later,” he promised. “I’ll tell you anything you want later.”

Finch met his eyes, dark with passion, and swallowed. “Oh, yes,” he said, his voice rasping. “Later.”

Stone smiled, slow and sweet, and pushed him toward the bed. “Move. I’m not getting back in that chair, and I’m sure as hell not sitting on your knee.”

Finch grinned at the thought. “Maybe that can be later, too,” he suggested, and slid over on the bed, leaving as much room as he could for Stone.

Stone grumbled as he got in and started to shift around, shooting Finch a startled look when Finch pushed him flat on his back and put a hand on his chest. “Stay like that, please?” Finch asked. “I want to explore a bit.”

“’Course you do,” Stone said, amused. He put his hands behind his head, wriggling a little to get comfortable. “Okay.”

Finch leaned down and kissed him, slowly and thoroughly, leaning further and further in until he was effectively blanketing Stone. No, he thought, warmth pooling in his belly. Not Stone, not anymore, not like this. Stone was for his colleague. This was Jared, in all truth.

Finch closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Jared’s, breathing deep.

“Thought you wanted to explore.” Jared bit him lightly on the chin.

“This is exploring,” Finch said, hoping to sound dignified, but suspecting that he mainly sounded besotted. But it was true. He could spend hours, even days, exploring Jared’s mouth and face. Every angle, every line, every hollow; each was a treasure to discover, with its own taste and texture.

“Mm-hmm.” Jared bit him on the earlobe next, and Finch laughed, joy bubbling up in him.

He pressed the end of the laugh into Jared’s mouth, hoping Jared could feel the joy behind it, and sat up.

“All right, then, a proper exploration.” He swept a hand across Jared’s chest and down over his belly, delighting in the ripples that followed his fingers. “You like that,” he murmured confidently.

He moved his hand lower still, down below Jared’s navel, and was met not only with tremulous muscles but a straining prick, wet and eager. “Oh yes, you like that very much,” he chuckled. “What else do you like, I wonder.”

“My God,” Jared said. “You talk during this, too?”

Finch sat back on his heels and looked at him, nonplussed. “I talk during everything.”

Jared huffed out a laugh, shaking his head as he leaned back against the pillow. “Well, I don't.”

“Surely you can tell me what you like,” Finch said cajolingly.

Jared looked at him, eyes darkening, and Finch shivered at so much naked desire aimed straight at him. “I–” Shaking his head again, Jared reached for Finch’s hand and brought it to his prick, closing it around the shaft and holding it there. “This.”

Finch smiled. “I can do this,” he said. It felt good in his hand, solid and strong, a match to the man, and he stroked steadily, watching Jared’s face to gauge the pace.

Then Finch shifted position, until his head was near Jared's hip. “Finch, what are you—oh my God,” Jared gasped, as Finch's mouth closed around the head of his prick.

Finch hummed a little, wrapping one hand firmly around the base of Jared’s prick and sucking steadily at the top, flicking his tongue over the slit. Jared liked this too, clearly, growing even harder in Finch’s mouth and groaning steadily above his head.

Finch pulled off to admire his handiwork, Jared laid out before him like a feast, open and wanting.

“I’m still not saying stop, you know,” Jared rasped out.

Finch laughed and bent back to his task with a will, licking a long stripe up Jared’s prick then nuzzling below to suck at his balls. They drew up tight as Jared gasped, and Finch drew away again, tightening his hand to help stroke Jared to completion.

He was beautiful when he came, muscles taut and straining, and Finch’s only wish was that the light was better. But even in the flickering, shadowy lantern light, it was a sight he’d never forget.

As Jared finished, Finch leaned over once more to wrap his mouth around the head of his prick, taking in the last few drops of his seed. Finch moved up and waited until Jared came back to himself somewhat, then leaned down and darted his tongue into Jared's mouth. “That's you,” he said throatily. Jared shivered, and swallowed convulsively, his prick twitching hard under Finch’s hand.

“Jesus, Finch,” Jared said finally, wide-eyed. “Did you learn that in China?”

Finch blinked, startled. “No, of course not. I was just a boy in China, far too young for such things. No, I learned it in Scotland Yard.”

Jared stared at him for a moment, then closed his mouth with a snap. “I don't think I want to know,” he said firmly.

Finch chuckled, sliding sideways to a more comfortable position as he petted Jared’s softening prick comfortably. His own was aching for release by now and he shifted his hips to press it against Jared’s thigh, too caught up in watching Jared’s face to do more than that. So rare, to see him so relaxed and unguarded, smiling at Finch with breathtaking sweetness.

“Jared,” Finch said helplessly, leaning in to kiss him again.

Jared kissed him back, maneuvering them until he could pull Finch in even closer, stroking whatever skin he could reach. “Come on, Finch,” he murmured. “Show me what _you_ like.”

Finch shivered, a world of possibility opening before him. But for now—”Was I too heavy, before?”

Jared grinned. “Nope.” He tugged while Finch shifted, and a moment later Finch was lying on top of him, his prick nestled in the warm damp skin of Jared’s groin.

Finch took some of his weight on his elbows, as any gentleman should, but pushed hard into Jared, who urged him on with strong hands and soft words. Finch lost himself in the rhythm, knowing it wouldn’t take much.

Jared moved under him, bringing his thighs up to cradle Finch’s hips as his hands gripped Finch’s arse more firmly.

The change in angle did it, and Finch came with a quiet cry, shuddering against Jared for a long moment before his arms gave out and he fell forward, panting. Jared ran his hands up and down Finch’s back in soothing strokes while the final tremors passed.

Finally recovered, Finch breathed in the scent of warm Jared, knowing he should move but too sated to do anything about it just yet. He smiled when he felt a hand stroking his head, tilting his chin to press a kiss against Jared’s neck.

Jared made a rumbly sort of contented sound and pulled the covers over them both before they cooled off too much, the sheets rustling softly in the quiet.

Finch blinked. It was quiet. He sat up, peering toward the window. “I think it stopped snowing.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“You don’t sound very surprised.”

“Mmm. Get back down here, would you? It’s cold.”

“You told me it was a blizzard!”

“I said it might turn into a blinding storm. Might, not will.”

“You lied to me.”

“Well, it got you up here, didn’t it?” Jared said gruffly, a little pink at the ears.

“Oh,” Finch said softly, a smile spreading over his face. “Yes, it did.”

Jared reached out and pulled Finch back down into the warm cocoon of the bed, sliding over so they could lie back to front. “You know, for a detective, sometimes you’re not that bright, Finch,” Jared said, sliding an arm across his waist as he tucked his knees up behind Finch’s. “Good thing you’ve got me.”

Finch tangled their fingers together. “Good thing,” he agreed, and closed his eyes to sleep.


End file.
